The Closest Thing To Barefoot
by DarkDefender89
Summary: Who is Cindi Ann Miller, and what is she and her Mother hiding?When she moves to Florida, will she love or hate what she finds. She comes with expectations that everything will be cliche,like they always are. Will they be? PLZ REVIEW PPPLZ?
1. Part 1A

**The Closest Thing To Barefoot: Chapter 1**

I unpacked the last cardboard box and headed downstairs to get myself a glass of ice cold water, and to see what Mamma was up to. I always wondered what her secret was; I always wondered what we were running from. But she never told me. I guess she thought she couldn't trust me. Whatever. I didn't really care.

I ran down the stairs and found Mamma sitting at the counter, staring long and hard at our fake IDs and all of the paperwork. This time, we were the Millers. I was supposed to be Cindi Ann Miller. Whatever. Like I said before, I didn't really care.

Each time we picked up and moved, I became a different character. I became a different person. In my closet, there were too many outfits that you'd expect for someone like me to have. That's because each time we moved, I put on the façade of a different stereotype; a different cliché role. That way, I learned, I could blend better. Yeah, I knew the rules. But I also knew what came along with it. If you were a cheerleader, that's all you were. If you were a jock, that's all you were. If you were goth or punk, that was all you were, the depressed little goth chick. And if you were an outcast, a loner, then it was even better, because, for the most part, you could hide behind the shadows. It didn't always work that way, but most of the time, the rules were the rules. Simple.

I had even chose to be one of the populars, way back in the beginning, before I knew better…before I despised them. I have been a basketball offbeat tomboy, a swim-team girl-jock, a drama girl, even a goth girl. But most of the time, I just wore lose clothes with dark colors and didn't wear make-up and didn't say anything to anybody and they didn't say anything to me.

I didn't exactly like the life I lived, but, hey, it's the way the cards were dealt. And its cheating to try to make it work your way; to keep fishing until you got the hand you really wanted to have.

I guess Mamma saw that I was in a gloomy mood because she suggested I go running.

Running. In all of the characters I've played, that was the one thing that was constant. That was the one thing that was me, only me. And when I ran, I ran barefooted. Well….not quite. But, I ran the closest thing to barefooted. Mamma said they could track the DNA from my feet and find us, so Mamma made me wear socks. I hated socks, because my toes felt trapped and I felt so bound-in. Almost as trapped as my feet felt when I wore shoes. But oh well. That was just another pointless fact about the obvious that I had to get over.

But once I started running, I felt everything I always felt. I felt the exhilaration, the inhibition. My soul felt like it was on fire, raging with uncontrollable energy. I felt like I could do anything, be anything…even be myself. And when I ran, I forgot about the characters I played; I forgot about playing the part each day just to get by. To get by unnoticed. What a life that was.

But then I slapped myself on the head and got back to reality. Because this _is _my life, and complaining won't ever change it. So I simply say, "Sure Mom," and I run back upstairs to put on the only outfit that I wore every place we lived.

This time, Mamma had chosen a small town called Coconut Cove, Florida.

I looked down at the outfit. It was ragged and worn down from all the times I had worn it; there were even a couple holes in it….but I didn't care, because it was the only thing I had that was "me". It was an orange running Jersey with a big "#1" printed on the back with bold black ink. The shorts were long shorts, going almost down to my knees. They were bright orange, just like the shirt.

This was the one outfit that defined me.

I put it on, smiling. I ran down the stairs and yelled out, "Bye Mom. I'll try to be back before dark."

She simply said, "Okay, sweetie." Her voice was nonchalant and not all-there. But there was something else in her voice; something that was always there….her love for her daughter. No matter how vague and far away it sounded, I could always find it there. I could always hear it, that vague distant softness and that beautiful shimmer to her voice. No matter what happened, it was always there.

After all, there were some things that moving around couldn't change. There were some things that even the biggest of tragedies couldn't shake. I smiled, opening the door and running outside. It was January, but it was warm outside. After all, it was Florida.

I ran down the flat driveway and ran, at a fast pace. That was one thing I definitely was: fast. I could move like lightning, and I could dodge practically anything. Out of all the places I have lived, I have never found another person as fast as me. Let alone _faster_ than me. No one was faster than me.

In Coconut Cove, Florida, no one would be faster than Cindi Ann Miller. Because that was who I was now.

I ran, thinking about what my pseudonym was going to be this time. I have short, light alabaster hair…well, short for a girl. But it wasn't your normal hair-cut. It was a little bit messy, a little bit wild, but it looked like it was supposed to be that way. It looked like I just came out of a muddy swamp and shook her head and mud flew all over my pale, pallid, ghostly white face. If it wasn't for the few, scattered light brown freckles, people probably could have mistaken me from a ghost. But don't get me wrong, I like the pasty look; the soft pastels barely visible. I liked everything about me: my unbelievably skinny and coordinated and quick body, my light hair and my pale complexion. I liked my green eyes. Emerald, like my fathers' were, before he died. Most people tell me my eyes look like they are blue. They don't bother to look any closer; they don't bother to see that green is not blue. Because from the far away everybody else sees me from, I'm not really all that surprised that people mistake them for blue. They probably look blue, from a distance. But not to me.

And amazingly, I could transform the exact same image to bee seen differently each time. Physically, nothing changed, except for maybe the style of clothes I wore. It was all a trick of the eye; a trick of illusion….and attitude and subtle behavior were the key. I could be whoever…whatever…I wanted to be. I could change personas so quickly, that, usually, I was confused about who I was. You can't have a strong sense of identity when you're always on the run.

Except for when I'm running, for no reason at all. Then, and only then, I know exactly who I am. I know exactly who I'll always be, no matter where we move, no matter who or what is after us.

As I was running, I soon realized that I had lost track of time. It was getting dark. I was starting to feel the dim moonlight surround me. But that wasn't the only thing that was surrounding me. I realized that I had run straight into a forest. Great.

Well, I decided that I might as well look around. What harm would it do? I still had time to get back before Mamma would start worrying. In the past, I had returned from a run no earlier than midnight. And no one else could tell you as well as I could how beautiful it was when you were running in the blackest black of the night, surrounded by a swirling abyss of lightless stars, a lone crusader in the middle of the night. I loved the feeling that gave me. And it wasn't anywhere close to midnight, even. So there. I had nothing to worry about.

After exploring the misty, dark woods for a while, I heard a noise. By the time I realized someone was sneaking up behind me, it was too late to run. I felt myself being knocked down and blindfolded. But whoever it was, I wasn't gonna let them be more powerful then me. So I turned around and kicked my attacker hard in the back. Even though I couldn't see (I was blindfolded, remember?), my senses were un-inhibited. The thrill of running wasn't gone; I still had that powerful, rabid energy.

And it wasn't about to fade, because I wasn't gonna die tonight. If I ever did die, actually, it would be _my_ choice, not the choice of some attacker about my height and probably about my age. That would be pathetic. That would be _so _pathetic.

"Who are you? And what are you doing here?" my attacker asked roughly.

"That's none of your business," I said with a burst of anger. For a second I wondered if this had anything to do with the people who were after my Mamma. But then I figured that, no, it couldn't be. He was just a kid, no older than me. I ripped off the blindfold and got a good look at him

He had some twisted combination between tan and pale skin. It was so weird; it was something I had never seen before. He had a slim, wiry, muscular body and wild, dirty blond hair. He had scary blue eyes, and was wearing an old, dirty white T-shirt, a ripped pair of shorts similar to mine, and he was bare-footed.

"You better not tell anybody that I'm here," he said harshly, "And you better not come back, because," he said, kicking over a bag and letting poisonous snakes crawl out, "You'll find one of _these_ in your bed if you do."

"Ha," I said, laughing. "You don't even know where I live. I'm not too frightened. Besides, I'm not afraid of snakes. In fact, nature boy, or whoever you are, I don't do fear. And I'll come back _any darn time I like._ Got that clear?"

I smiled because I liked the fact that I was being strong and assertive.

The boy simply said, "You'd better watch your step, then," and ran off, fading quickly into the night forest.

I stood there for a second, frozen in amazement in what I had discovered.

And I knew I definitely was gonna come back. Because in the woods; in the wild….I was released of my inhibitions. In the wild, I wasn't Cindi Ann Miller. I was myself. I had no name, and therefore I was free.

I smiled, and turned around and ran home. Not everything in my life was perfect, but at least it wouldn't be boring this time. I knew one thing for sure; it was going to be sure-fire fun hating wacko-nature boy.

Yeah, that's for sure.


	2. Part 1B

**The Closest Thing To Barefoot: Chapter 2**

I decided not to tell Mamma what happened. By the time I got back home, she was already asleep anyways. She had fallen asleep without even eating, by the looks of it. The kitchen looked exactly how it looked like when I left: papers spread all over the place, no attempts of cooking or cleaning evident. As usual, it didn't seem like she was taking care of herself. I glanced at the clock. It read: 10:43 p.m. It was still early. I had left around 5:00 p.m., but I was seriously hoping to get to run at midnight. Oh well. I'll just leave later next time.

I walked upstairs to the bedroom Mamma was sleeping in and I nudged her. "Mamma," I said, "Did you eat something?" She said, "Yeah, honey, I'm fine," and closed her eyes. She was lying, plus she was really still asleep when she said it. I wished all the stress would just quit bugging her so she could be happier. "Goodnight, then," I said, kissing her on the forehead and leaving the room.

I walked into my room and took off my sweaty running clothes and put them in the sink, added some soap, and washed them. I used a washcloth to wash myself, and then I opened my drawer to decide which night gown to wear tonight. I didn't have that many, but the ones I had, each had a special meaning. The silky, pasty white one was the one I was wearing when my father died. It still had a couple bloodstains on it. I remember that night. I was only eight, and I was standing on the staircase and had come down to get a drink of ice water and I found his body on the ground, bloody. He wasn't breathing. I went over and shook him, naïve, thinking I could wake him up and everything would be okay. The court never did figure out who it was that murdered him. Maybe he killed himself. Who knows? That's what they finally said. But I can't believe that for a second. He had been happy, happier than any man I knew. Someone killed him. I just don't know who. The night gown, of course, still fits me, because, for one I am really skinny, and for two it was long and big on me when I was eight.

The velvet purple one was short. It went about a quarter of the way down my thighs. My mother bought it for me for when I was older, when I was about six, before anything in our life started to go wrong. The neck is rimmed with a silk gold border.

Then I have the night gown that was a gift from the one person I actually let into my life; the one person who was the closest I ever had for a friend. Usually, I isolate myself, because we have to leave soon anyways, and I don't want to hurt anyone. But one time, a girl named Aimee kept talking to me and wanting to help me, and eventually we became almost like sisters. But that was only for a month and a half, because then we left. And when we leave, by the way, we don't tell anyone we left. We just disappear. We can't tell anyone why, or where we are going, or even that we are going, and we are sorry. And they'll have to think the worse, like we were abducted or something. See what I mean? I don't want to hurt anybody like that again. Because Aimee probably thinks that Carrie Jade is dead, or something horrible like that. And I guess, in a way, Carrie Jade _is _dead. Carrie Jade was an outcast who was obsessed with poetry and who was on the swim team. But part of all of the characters I become, it comes from inside of me. Carrie Jade was a _part of me._ But Aimee doesn't know that, and I hurt her. See why I'm not allowed to really have any friends? Anyways, back to the night gown. Aimee gave Carrie Jade a long black night gown with pearls around the neck from her grandmother's attic. It was vintage, and it meant a lot to her. It's my only reminder of sort of what it's like to sort of have a friend.

Then, of course, there's the night gown that I bought for myself, because I wanted something to wear to bed that wasn't tainted with bad memories and things lost that can never be resuscitated. I wanted to wear a night gown that was only me; one that meant nothing. Only, it did mean something. It was a symbol for my isolation; it was a symbol that reminds me that I'm not only a lone crusader because I have to but also because I am drawn to the strangeness and beauty of it, and I want to dive into it at full force. I don't know why; it just sounds right to me. It was a bright green color that stood out-it was emerald, the color of my eyes. It was a shiny, satin green material with green velvet lining the bottom and green velvet lining the top. It was lose but fitted.

But right now, none of my four night gowns felt right. In fact, it didn't feel right going to bed. I wasn't even sleepy. I looked at the clock again. It said: 11:16 p.m. I reached for the sink and took my running outfit out of the sink, squeezed the water out of it, and hung it up to dry in my bathroom.

Finally I decided to just wear a long white T-shirt (that had belonged to my father before he died) to bed. I lay down on my bed, listening to the silent echoes of the night, but I wasn't able to fall asleep. There was too much on my mind.

And besides, I hadn't really decided who exactly Cindi Ann Miller was going to be yet. I reached out the thick book I had started when Mamma and I started running. It was a thick black journal with gold rimmed paper. Engraved in gold was "Every Side Of Me". Every character that I had ever been was written in the book, with all photographs of me as that character glued in like a scrapbook. But it wasn't really a scrapbook. I wrote poems in it that only someone like the particular character would write. Most of them were not even close to how I really felt. I wrote down the fake name, the fake data, the fake feelings, the fake status in school (in terms of grade, and in terms of social status), the fake favorite colors, the fake obsessions….you get the point. And now it was Cindi Ann Miller's turn to start her section of the black book that was _way_ too thick.

Only, I didn't know who she was gonna be. I remembered that time when I was Hanna Tibbet and I had dyed my hair black so people thought I was a snobby, unapproachable goth. I hated it, because, like I said, I love my alabaster hair. But I can't have the same hair everywhere I am. People will start to see through the cliché disguises. Everybody hated Hanna. Maybe because they thought everybody with the name "Hanna" was supposed to be classic cheerleader blond. I got really into my character and was out to prove them wrong. I was in seventh grade then, but really, pranks in middle school are worse than in high school. In middle school, the mean crowd just hasn't grown up to more mature (and if you look deeper, worse, but on the surface it seems more mild) ways of hurting the people they hated. I guess I can't really say that much; I'm only in the middle of the ninth grade. But, still. Its not only High school. Nobody's stupid, even when their in 2nd and 3rd grade. As young as it can go, there is "in" and "out" and "cool" and "not cool". In my opinion, those rules are _so _"not cool".

I put the book back under my bed. I'd deal with it the next day. Maybe the little dream fairy (ha ha sarcastic did you really believe me?) will come to me in my sleep and tell me who Cindi Ann Miller is supposed to be.

And I'm still thinking about that wacko boy out in the woods who kind of assaulted me. Why can't I get him out of my mind? Its already driving me crazy!

So I'll close my eyes, hope to fall asleep, and hope he doesn't haunt me in my sleep.

But I'm not gonna just let him go like that. I'm gonna go back to the woods tomorrow and spy on him, and see what he's up to.

Perfect.


	3. Part 1C

You could say I'm pretty used to starting over. In a week I start school at Coconut Cove High school as the "new kid" in the middle of the year. But you know all the things about "new kids", and the teacher introducing them and all that crap? None of it is true. Well, maybe in elementary school they do it a little bit, but not that much. In reality, you just come and sit where you want-sit in the front if you want to be noticed; sit in the back if you want to hide away. But it's up to you. No one's gonna do it for you. No ones gonna force you to walk in front of the class room and "tell your classmates your name and a little bit about yourself". It's bogus, really. Who would want such a cheesy, fiction-y scene, anyways? Just thought I should make that clear.

Anyways, Mamma says I don't start until a week because I have to help her unpack. I wanted to ask her, what's the point, because we'd probably be picking up and leaving soon. But she's getting into the whole Mrs. Bettina Miller thing. She's not always passionate about her characters, like I am. She usually just plays the part, like a monotonous drone. I take it more like a school play. No, not a school play. Those are never really that good. More like a cinema thing. Maybe a movie. I dunno. Like I said before, I don't care.

So here I am at 5:30 a.m. in the morning, wide awake staring at a dull brown box. I'm so not where I wanna be. But no one cares. I carefully take out the blue and white glass dishes, and Momma's flower vases, unwrapping them from the bubble paper. The bubble paper. When we did this when I was eight, nine, and ten I loved popping the bubble papers. I didn't really understand what it meant. It was just something to amuse myself with. Mamma had always yelled at me to "Stop that, child!" and she'd plug her ears or slap me (gently). Now, it's so different. Its like the bubble paper is there, but that's all it is: there, and everything is so pained and I hate to think about the memories. I carefully place all of Mamma's glass things on the counter and slowly walk back to the box, and look down at the black socks on my feet. I wanna take them off, but I can't. Mamma would go bezerk. I stared down into the empty box and it seemed like it was staring back at me, with fierce laughing monster eyes. I want it to go away from me. I want it to leave me alone. I want to scream at it but I'll wake Mamma up and she needs sleep. So I just let the ripped flaps fall into their place, and I pick up the empty box and put it where the rest of the empty boxes were lying. I got up, still wearing the long white T-shirt I wore to bed, I went to the pantry to get a package of oatmeal to make for Mamma for breakfast. But I looked at the clock: it was still 6:04 a.m. It's too early. I sigh and leave the package on the counter and walk outside to feel the nice morning weather. Then I sigh and go back inside. Time is passing so slowly. I need to go back to that forest. I need to go running.

I pace back and forth between the kitchen, fighting a battle between myself in my head. I want to run in the morning; it's so nice out. But I shouldn't. I should probably unpack the rest of the boxes. It's not like we really take that much stuff with us when we pick up and leave. It's not like we ever have that kind of time to take everything we have. I look at the boxes and walk away. I walk back up to my room. My solitary room, the walls haunting me with their every glare. I wanna scream, and kick the walls. But I don't, of course.

Eventually I got tired of just waiting. I ran up the stairs and ripped off the ugly white shirt, putting it in the sink. I'd deal with it later. I grabbed my running outfit. It wasn't all the way dry, but a little moisture never hurt anybody. I put the outfit on, smiling. I ran to the kitchen and found a piece of scrap paper lying around, and wrote a note letting Mamma know where I was. I warmed up the oatmeal and put it by the note, in case she was hungry. Then I opened the door and ran out into the beautiful morning weather. Ah, running. It's the one thing that satiates my soul. Whatever my soul is.

Soon I found myself back at that same forest I ran into that wacko boy. I wondered what he was up to. It had seemed like he lived in the wild, all alone. It didn't make sense. I decided to just evade my own question, for now.

I walked around the woods, exploring the woods. I picked my pace up to a run, dodging branches and rocks. I was smiling, too, until my foot got caught in some kind of swamp. The water was all green and murky. I pulled my foot out and grinned. If I wasn't wearing socks, my foot would be all slimy now. But really, I'd rather be slimy and barefooted than wearing these uncomfortable socks. I figured it would be okay to let my guard down, just a little bit, here in the woods. No one would go looking for traces of Mamma and me in the woods. No way. So I took off my slimy black socks and ran like the wind.

Then I bumped into something. A rock, maybe? But too soon I realized it was not a rock; it was not a rock at all. It was that weird boy from the other night.

"I thought I told you not to come back," he said, brushing some dirt off his leg and standing up.

"No one controls me," I said. "Besides, what are you up to? Why do you think you can live in the woods, alone?"

"No comment," he said.

I laughed. "Is that all you know how to say?"

"Double no comment," he said again.

"You can't hide forever," I said.

"Who said I'm hiding?" he said.

Before I could say anything, he ran off. I ran after him. Like I said before, no one is faster than me. He was pretty fast, but not faster than me. After all, I was a runaway. In a different sense, of course, than you would expect, because it was really Mamma that was on the run. But she dragged me along with her. She had to. There was really no way out of it. And while I hated all the characters, I didn't mind running. I kind of liked knowing that, somehow, I was different. Maybe one day, I wouldn't have to conform. I could stop just "playing the part." But not yet; not today.

"No one's faster than me," I said as I caught up to him and started running past him. But he picked up his pace. He was actually kind of fast. But not faster than me.

Soon I tripped. This time, it was a rock. I fell in the same swamp that my leg got caught in before. Gross. I was just about to sit up when I saw the crazy boy standing there, his arms on his hip, laughing with a cocky smile.

"Hey!" I said. "Stop that!"

And he said the usual, of course. What else could I expect, but "No comment." ? Once I was out of the murky, shallow water, he said, "You look like a slime monster."

I was _so _not laughing. "And you're any better?" I got a handful of the slimy water and threw it at him. "You are _so _gonna pay for that!" he said. "Yeah, really?" I said sarcastically, "What are you gonna do?"

I stood off and shook all of the slime and muck off of my body. I felt so gross, but I felt grosser knowing that there was this freaky boy out there who dared to mess with me. I dunno. I don't know about anything right now. Part of me wants to just get it over with and slap him or throw a rock at him or something like that. But there's another part of me, that I'm screaming at to shut up, that wants to just get it over with and…I don't know. I don't know what that part wants. That's what makes it so annoying. That's what makes it so dangerous.

I stare into his scary blue eyes one more time and I turn around and run the other way, mucky water and all. But I knew, this wasn't going to be the end of this. Not even close.


	4. Part 1D

I wasn't sure if I should go back to the forest and look for that kid again. So the next couple of days I hung around the house, helping Mamma with the last of the boxes. It was really hard at first, just like it was every time we ran. But we were in it together, so eventually we eased up, and even managed to have a little bit of fun. We didn't do the kind of thing most families would consider "fun": we didn't traipse around amusement parks or have picnics on the beach or have family game nights. There were only two of us, and since we have lived alone since my father died, we've always been kind of eclectic and weird. We had a different way of doing things. Instead of playing Gin Rummy or building card castles, we would search old newspapers that we had saved for unusual sayings, faces that just jump out at you and don't seem to leave you alone, and weird names. We kept our clippings in an old cardboard box that we had cut to be in the shape of the moon (Mamma never told me why, but I figured it had to do with the fact that the moon was the only light during the dark night…kind of like us….it was the only light to the dark, sinister life we led.). We glued some of the clippings to the box like a collage.

We did weird things like taking the time to notice all of the weird things that everybody else takes for granted. At all of my different schools, I would rummage in the garbage cans and recycling bins to find weird "artifacts" that other people through away without even knowing that they were mindlessly giving out free evidence about themselves. Not that Mamma or I was going to go look for them, or capture them, or anything. We collected junk, and studied it. If you could call it junk. Is an old, blackened brooch with a mysterious silver stone in the middle junk? Is a gold-lined pen (without any ink left) with the words "Oryx Zanxyll" junk? Usually, we didn't bother to decipher the meaning of these pointless objects. What they really were, and what they really meant, would always be a mystery to us. We didn't mind that so much. What we did do, though, was make stories about them. We called them "The oracles of the past, the keystone to the future." We kept all of them in a different cardboard box shaped like a heart. The stories were what linked us together, not only mother and daughter, but best friends.

I think back to the day I found the blackened brooch in the garbage bin. I had actually seen the girl who had thrown it away. She was stick thin, almost skinnier than me. She had black hair that was obviously dyed because of its texture, and really thick black make-up that hid her face. I had been hiding behind the stairwell, watching. I didn't know her name or anything, because we had only moved there about a week ago. I remember that she had screamed the words "Leave me alone!" (I couldn't see who she was talking to. Maybe she was hallucinating. Who knows?) Anyways, she ripped the brooch off of her loose, velvet black blouse and tossed it in the garbage bin. As soon as she was out of sight, I dug it out.

I don't know the real story that the brooch tells, but here's what Mamma and I came up with:

'_A girl named Zannia was a loner. She never talked to anyone, except for her evil stepfather who locked her in a closet when she misbehaved. And that happened often, because she was paranoid and fed-up with the world. Her father stopped feeding her, and eventually hunger caused her to go insane. She began to be haunted by voices. She started to see people who didn't really exist. It has been said that she could hear the walls speak. One day, when she came home from school, warn out, hungry, and just barely alive, she found her stepfather's body, bloody rotting. She saw ghouls surround his body, and she was afraid they were going to take her, too. See, even though her stepfather abused her, she had never stopped loving him. She had never met her real father; her stepfather was the closest thing she had to a father. When she was six, he gave her a bright silver brooch. As time passed by and she spent more and more of her time stuck in the dirty closet, and being hit by her stepfather's hot stick, the brooch gradually rotted and became black. Only one spot in the middle remained silver, bright as ever, a lone star. So, standing by her dead stepfather, she didn't know what to do. But she was insane, so she thought demons or ghouls had killed him and were going to kill her, too. And she ran, far, far away. One day she met a man, the hero of the story, who saved her. Eventually they married and had a child, named after her mother. But the mother believed that she was still cursed from that night her stepfather died, so she left the brooch with her daughter and ran away. Years later, when the second Zannia was a skinny sixth grader in middle school, the voices started haunting her as well, and in panic she tossed the brooch into the garbage bin and ran for her life. She was never seen again.'_

Of course, that's not what really happened. It was probably just an old brooch from the boutique or something. But that's the fun out of telling stories: they aren't real, they're fun, and no matter how outlandish they are, they still hold some truth to them because the mind is a powerful tool…either that, or our "artifacts" were powerful evidence. It could be both. Who knows? But to us, it was just a story.To us, it was just a chance to escape the maze.

There were two days left until I had to start school. Mamma and I were sitting on Mamma's squeaky bed, both boxes out. We didn't have a television in our house, by the way. I don't remember if we did way back when, before my father died. Its too long ago, and I wasn't paying attention.

"Mamma?" I asked.

"What, honey?" she replied.

I decided not to tell her about the crazy barefoot nature boy. But maybe I could ask her why _we_ were on the run. Not that she'd tell me.

"What is it that we're always running away from?" I asked hesitantly. I looked around, my eyes darting from bare wall to bare wall. Why were our walls so bare? It always seemed like they were staring at us; like they could somehow hear what we were saying, and like that they could see every tiny move we made…I imagined them seeing me move my hand up to nervously scratch the back of my neck.

"It doesn't matter, honey," Mamma said nervously. "Come 'on, lets look at the artifacts."

"We've been looking at the artifacts for _hours_, Mamma. They can wait."

Her face looked insulted, and I instantly regretted saying that. Its not like I took our artifacts for granted. They were important to me. They were important to both of us. But what good was it for me to know fictitious stories of millions of people from the past when I didn't even know _my_ story, or who I was? Could I just make it up, like Mamma and I made up the stories about the artifacts? But instantly I said, "I'm sorry, Mamma. I didn't mean it that way. You know the artifacts are important to me too." I knew that she was not going to tell me today why we were running. She never did. Maybe one day, I'd have the courage to go out and search for the answers myself. But not today. I wanted to hold onto as many of the lingering good moments as possible.

Mamma took a black rock with a pink heart painted in the middle. She started to speak:

'_Two sisters, Jade and Elena, lived with their mother and father in a small house by the seaside. Every day, the two sisters would go out and walk along the beachside, looking for seashells and rocks. Usually they waited for evening. Sometimes, when they were daring enough, they went out during night. No hour was too early for them. Their father was always warning them that what they were doing was foolish, but their mother told their father that **he** was a fool. Jade and Elena watched as their parents fought. They always fought. Sometimes, when she was younger, Elena, the youngest, started crying. But now Elena was older and she knew better. But still, her lip quivered. So one time, when her parents were fighting, Jade, the older sister, could see the pained look in her sister's eyes. So she grabbed her sister's hand and said, "Come 'on. We have rocks to collect." Now, Jade was only fourteen, and Elena was only ten, but their wisdom was way past their years. That night on the beachside, they found several rocks and seashells and plumped them into their black bucket, landing with a "curplunk" sound. When they got back, their mother was dead and their father was gone. Neither of the girls knew what happened, but they knew the facts: they were orphans now. Jade, the oldest, gradually fell into depression. Bruises and crimson red scars started appearing on Jade's arms. Ultimately, it was her younger sister, Elena, that saved her. During the night Elena snuck into her sister's room and took one of the stones they had found that night, and painted a pink heart in the center of it. The next morning, when Jade woke up, she saw the stone and knew that it was her sister that painted the heart on it. At that moment she knew that meant that her sister cared about her. Just like Jade had seen Elena's pained eyes that night during their parents' last big fight, Elena had seen Jade's pained eyes…her pained soul….and had cared enough to try to save it. That alone made Jade smile. You see, she now knew that she wasn't alone in the world, and someone did care about her. Soon enough, the bruises and scars on her arms disappeared.'_

After Mama finished telling the story, I smiled, and took out the next artifact: a rusty paper-clip. We continued telling stories for hours and hours, until we became exhausted and fell asleep, without dinner, and with our clothes still on.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The next day, I ran back to the place where I had last seen the barefoot boy. I didn't know what to expect, but it was pretty much like the last time: we bumped into each other, and yelled at each other. He thought I was following me, and told me to quit bugging him. Personally, I thought it was the other way around.

Once he was out of sight, I decided to look for some 'artifacts' I could bring home for the game Mamma and I played. Maybe it was a bad idea, because she'd probably ask me where I found them, but then again, I could always lie. I looked around the dark, thorny woods, trying to find something suspicious, or at least something weird. But I couldn't find anything that didn't belong in a forest. I couldn't find anything eclectic; something that could have a twisted story linked to it. But I didn't give up. I was getting a little bit cold, wearing only my running outfit, even though it was Florida. I'm skinny, after all, and when you're skinny, you get cold more quickly.

I was sitting down digging in the dirt when the barefoot boy saw me a second time that day. "What are you still doing here?" he asked. He was obviously angry. He had a scared, paranoid look on his face. I was way too familiar with that face, that face you wear when you think someone was finally catching up to you, and everything you were running from was going to grab you by the neck and choke you to death. Mamma wore that face, too many times. It was always most copious and intense right around before we picked up and moved to a new area, but it was there, to some degree, all year round. I wondered what this boy was running from, because I knew that there was _no way _(and I repeat, _no way_) a person could have that face and not be running from _something._

And suddenly I wondered why it was, that after around 500 B.C. when the nomadic hunters and gatherers started to settle down and live a sedentary life revolved around agriculture and eventually religion, culture, and warfare, as well, that there were always people in history that were nomadic. The Mongols had remained nomadic, living a violence-based life, outside of civilization. Were Mamma and I nomadic? Was this crazy barefoot boy nomadic? All nomadic really means is that you don't stay in one place, right? So I guess we are. I guess the three of us are nomadic, outsiders to society. Of course, I didn't know for sure about the barefoot kid, but I was pretty sure. I could put two and two together. I wasn't a math genius, or anything like that, but I could put two and two and two together. That was about all the math I'd ever really need in life.

"Walking," I said in a monotonous, uninterested voice. I had to at least _pretend _that I wasn't interested in this crazy boy.

"You weren't walking. You were digging," the boy said harshly, with a cold, bleak ring to his voice. His blue eyes were austere, and they were staring straight into _my emerald eyes._ "Fine, I was digging," I said blatantly. "Well, why were you digging?" he asked. "None of your business," I said, giving him a taste of his own medicine. "You need to get out of here, like, _now," _he said coldly and tried to push me towards the exit to the forest. "No way," I said, but I left anyways. There was no point in arguing with him. He was stubborn-maybe even as stubborn as me; perhaps even _more_ stubborn than me.

0000000000000000000000000000

The next day I started school as Cindi Ann Miller. I decided Cindi would be a loner, who waits in the shadows. I really didn't have the mental energy to create a personality for Cindi. So I just left her unfinished, a blank painting like the walls on my house. I wondered that if when people saw Cindi, they would see right through her and see an invisible space, a vacuum filled with nothing but empty air.

No one talked to me; I'm not sure if anybody even noticed me. With my alabaster hair, pale skin, and skinny body, I looked almost like a ghost. It was almost as if I were invisible. I stood at my locker. The lockers were light blue, and tall. I took my coat off and hung it on the metallic hook, staring into the empty locker. The inside of the locker was a gray-colored metal. I swung my backpack over my shoulder and walked down the hall to my next class. I sat in a desk near the back, just like I did in my first class.

Too slowly, the day passed by. The clock on the wall in front of me was ticking at the speed as an ant with no incentive to move. At least I blended in, like a shadow on the wall just lingering there. That was the best way to make sure no one got suspicious of me, and Mamma and I wouldn't have to move again. But secretly, deep down, I knew that it was only a matter of time until we would have to move again.

Days passed and each day, give or take a couple, I would go to the forest after school. I didn't see or hear the crazy nature boy, but I could feel his presence. I could feel him watching me. I decided to ignore it, because I knew that he wasn't going to just go away. But neither was I. Slowly, the forest became almost like a second home to me. But every night, when I came home, reality overcame me as I did all the household chores and helped cook dinner with Mama. And when we played the artifact/story game, an eerie, sinister feeling always crept up my spine: like there was more truth to the stories we were telling that Mamma wasn't admitting (or at least wasn't telling me)….like there was some part of the stories that told the history of Mamma's life. I don't know. It's just a guess, but when I think about it, it makes sense. And even though every voice inside of me is telling me to stop thinking about it; that it is nonsense. The stories are fiction; absurd, tragic fiction…extreme fiction, that could never happen in real life. But no matter how many times I tell myself that, the feeling does not go away.

The other day, I found a silver chain on the floor of the school hallway. I thought about turning it in, but then I thought it would be a perfect item for the artifact game. And the new artifacts built up: the silver chain, a crumpled up piece of paper, a distorted wire, a leather band, a band-aid….there were countless objects….objects that were junk to most of the people at Coconut Cove High school, but stories to Mamma and I.

Time passed by, and I went into the forest again. This time, I tripped on a thorny branch, and fell over. I heard a noise. It was a huge dog. Once, when I was a little girl, I was attacked by a dog. I didn't think quickly enough, and history was repeating itself…that was the last thing I thought before I became unconscious.


	5. Part 1E

_I am spinning. All I see is a black abyss. I am surrounded by specks of black and white light. 'Come to me' a voice says. 'Come, we will take you home. You will feel safe. Everything will finally fit together.' I wonder who it was, speaking to me. Was there anyone else in this terrible, dark place? 'I don't want to come with you,': I screamed, but I felt like no one was listening; like I didn't have a choice in the matter anyways. I reach my hands out and realize that I can not see them, or even feel them. I can not feel anything. I am empty, and numb. I don't want to be trapped in this dark place. I scream; I punch the elastic walls with my fist, but they do not budge. 'Do not be afraid, Laura. You can come home.' Laura. My real name. The name I haven't used since I was eight. It frightens me, hearing it. It sends a chill down my spine, and I realize that I am shivering. 'This isn't home,' I say with a cold whisper. But no one hears me. The voice does not even respond._

_Then I feel a pulling. Someone is tugging at me; they are reaching for my soul. I can feel their black, slimy fingers. They are huge, grotesque, and, above all, strong. I feel a force trying to rip my soul away from me. The voices return, at a rapid pace. 'Come home, Laura.' 'This is good for you, Laura. Let us take you, Laura.' 'At home, you can finally know who you are, Laura.' No. How can I know who I am if I do not even know my mother's secret? My mother's blood is my blood. I don't know what is in my blood. Therefore, I do not know who I am. I don't know if I even remembered that my name was Laura. I don't even know who Laura was, before her father died. Even before he died, my parents had fought, and I was left in the dark. For two years, they fought, and the violence increased and increased at what was almost an exponential pace, and then he died. Who was I, before I was six and my life was flipped upside down? I don't know. I guess I just didn't have a chance to become somebody, because who knows who they are when they are only six years old? Who **really** knows who they are when they are only eight years old? After that, I became characters-nothing more, nothing less. I don't think I'm Laura anymore. I don't know._

_The rubbery, slimy black hands keep pulling at me. I try to push them away, but they are way stronger than me. And then I remember the dog, and I realize where I am: I am in the dimension, or passageway, or whatever you want to call it, between life and death. ' I don't want to die!' I scream, 'I don't want to die before I even know who I am!' The voices have a reply. What are they, death demons or something like that? 'You do know who you are, Laura. You belong to us. You belong to us. You belong to us. You belong to us, Laura. Please let us take you.'_

_Abruptly, the voices change. They are more forceful, and the slimy black hands pull harder. I try to be stalwart. I can't die here. I can't die, without knowing who that nature boy is. And then I realized what I had been avoiding for the past several weeks: I have never, ever in my lifetime met anyone similar to myself. Besides my mother, I have never really had a friend. I almost had a friend, when I met Aimee, but that doesn't really count, because I hurt her. Why am I drawn to this crazy, barefooted nature boy? I don't know. But maybe…just maybe…it's because I can see parts of myself in him, and that has never happened to me before._

_The voices keep coming. 'You have no choice, Laura. We are getting angry. Death is at your fingertips. You have to come,' the voices taunt me with a forceful voice. 'No! I'm not coming! You can't make me….' I scream, but my voice starts to waver, and my energy starts to fade. No! I have to hold on. I can't let those nasty death demons win. That dog. That huge dog. What was it doing in the forest, anyways? _

'_Let go, Laura! Let go, Laura! You have no choice! You have no choice! You have no choice!'_

_My light my energy is enclosed in is quivering, shaking violently. The black hands hold onto it, pulling it. I can feel my energy fading. The light bulb is flickering off and on. I have no hope. I'm really going to die. It's unfair. _

'_Now, Laura. Now, it is time. Now, we will take you. You will never return, Laura. Say good-bye.'_

_No! But now it is completely dark, and I have almost zero energy. My soul feels like it is evaporating. I have absolutely no strength left. My soul is enervated and lethargic. I am limp. And I know, it is time._

'_It is time, Laura.'_

_The black, slimy hand pulls harder than ever, and I can feel my soul disappearing. But then there is a bright light, a firm hand pulling in the opposite direction. My eyes flicker on and off, and for a second, I see a pair of bare feet. Then I black out again, but I know that I am safe. I'm not going to die._


	6. Part 1F

When I opened my eyes everything was dark. I tried to move, but every muscle cried out in excruciating pain. I felt nauseous and weak all over. I tried to adjust my eyes, but everything was dark. It must be night-time. I looked around, wondering what had happened. I opened my eyes and decided I must be hallucinating or something, because I saw a tall shadow looming behind me. Who had brought me here? What happened to me? Suddenly, I panicked. What if someone kidnapped me or something? What if the people who are after Mamma caught up to us?

Without thinking, I tried to stand up, but I fell back down….right into the arms of a stranger. He had strong arms…wait a minute, in my delirium I failed to notice that this was nature boy…yes, the very same nature boy I had been following and tracking and hating.

"Did you bring me here? What did you do to me?" I tried to scream, but I don't think it came out as a scream. It probably came out weaker than a whimper. No fair!

"You were injured," he said, "I found your body at one of the trees at the deeper part of the forest. I saved you." He was grinning, almost a cocky smile, but it wasn't quite cocky. There was something else there, hiding. "What happened?" I asked. "From the looks of it," he started, "You were bitten by a dog." How could a simple dog bite make me feel so nauseous? How could a dog bite cause this much pain? "Why did you bother to save me? I mean, aren't you busy doing, you know, whatever it is you do in the forest?" I asked, maybe a little too snobbily. But I wasn't ready to concede yet. I wasn't going to concave, just because of a simple dog bite. "I'm leaving now," I said, trying to stand up, but I fell down again. I looked down at my leg. It was covered with dark crimson blood, and black dried blood.

"I don't think you're leaving any time soon," he said, obviously happy with himself. Or was there something else hiding in his voice? Heroism? Concern? I looked through his jaded blue eyes, and I realized that I never actually had taken the time to look at him. All I had been interested in was the story. All I had been interested was what he could possibly be doing, living in the woods on his own. I didn't bother to look at him as a person. But staring into his blue eyes, I saw pain, and I saw exhaustion. It was hidden, buried, with layers and layers of stones consciously forming a secure wall. I had mistaken an icy wall for dressed-up egoism and a twisted sense of humor. I should have realized that something was hidden, with everything that I hide _every day._

Still, I wasn't going to yield. But maybe I could let him in, slowly. Maybe I could trust him. I don't know. I sat up and sighed. And then I panicked. Mamma was probably worried about me. She probably wondered where I was. "What time is it?" I asked. He must have sensed the panic in my voice, because when he replied his voice was softer. "Don't worry," he said.

For a second I looked into his eyes, and I could feel the presence of his eyes in looking into my eyes. For a moment, everything was okay again. The boy held out his hand. I reached for it, and I pulled myself up into a sitting position. "Where are we?" I asked. "An abandoned boat. I live here," he said. "You live in an _abandoned boat?_!" I asked. "Not always," he shrugged, nonchalantly, obviously cool about it, "I can't stay in one place forever."

"What are you running from, anyways?" I asked.

"Who said I was running from something?" he asked guardedly.

"It's obvious," I said.

"What, are you running from something or something like that?" he asked.

I didn't say anything. My face grew somber. He knew. He knew who I was. Silence hovered in-between us, and suddenly I realized my mistake: I should have just said something; I should have known he was only joking. But if he didn't know before, he sure does now. Silence is worth a million words. Everybody knows that. If you stagger, if you hesitate…you are dead meat.

"You _are_ running from something, aren't you?" he said using an elevated witty voice.

"No. No, I'm not," I said, but I mumbled, and it was over. He knew I had a secret. Once it is out that there is a secret, it is only a matter of time before the secret is discovered.

But then again, he had a secret, too.

He looked straight into my eyes. He put his arm and my shoulder, and said, "Look, Laura, its okay if…."

I interrupted him. Now I was angry. "How do you know my name is Laura?!!!?!!!?" I screamed. No one, and I repeat, no one, knew my real name. Sometimes, even I forgot my real name. But my conscience never let me forget it forever. "When I found you, you were screaming in delirium, 'I'm not Laura! I'm not Laura! Don't take me!' or something like that." Great. So when I was blacked out I was having another one of those nightmares about Laura. "And I figured," he said, "That you must be Laura, if you were denying it."

I decided that he knew too much. I had two choices: to decide I can trust wacko nature boy, and tell him everything, or to kill him. And I certainly couldn't kill him. I couldn't, because a part of me wouldn't let me. Oh, don't get me wrong, Cindi Ann Miller was fine with it. Hanna Tibbet was fine with it. Carrie Jade was fine with it. But something inside of me was screaming to let him in. Something inside of me was screaming that nature boy was everything I needed, and if I let him in, I would finally have a real friend. If he knew how to have a friend, but the thing inside of me screaming didn't think too much about that. It wanted to badly to stare into his scary blue eyes and never turn away. It feared that if I turned away, my neck would be trapped in that position forever. And then I realized what it was that was screaming inside of me. It was Laura. It was Laura.

All this time, Laura had been trapped inside of me, waiting to come out. But she couldn't come out now. She couldn't come out, when the world needed Cindi Ann Miller. Why did the world need Cindi Ann Miller? So Mamma wouldn't get caught.

But it wouldn't hurt anything to tell nature boy. I sat down on a rock outside of the abandoned boat, and said in a soft voice, "Can I trust you?" He simply nodded. I told him everything. I told him about the characters, and I told him about the artifact game. I told him that my mother just barely took care of herself, and I told him that this all started when my father died. "You never told me your name," I said.

"Out here in the wild," he said, "I don't need one."

"But what about your parents? Didn't they name you?" I asked.

"Nope. They didn't bother. They hit me, locked me in a cold closet in the basement, and didn't even feed me. When I was around nine I finally ran away. I finally escaped. Eventually, I hitch-hiked all the way to Florida."

"They really didn't bother to name you?" I asked him.

"Nope. But I don' care. I hate them, anyways. Well, my mother. My father, he's dead to. I wouldn't be surprised if the witch killed her."

I was starting to wonder if it was fate that nature boy and I met. I had thought my life was horrible, but his was worse. Way worse. Looking at his weird tan/pale skin, for the first time I saw it as beautiful. Maybe that's because it was his soul, not his skin, that I was seeing. Suddenly, I was drawn to everything about him. We were both lone crusaders; the forest was our only sanctuary.

"You can't live like this forever," I pointed out wearily. Why did it have to be this way?

"I've lasted this long. I think I can. I've been out here for almost six years now," he said. On the surface, he looked proud, almost satisfied. But I wasn't blind. I could see the weary, jaded look trapped in his eyes, poison to his soul. I realized that it was the same poison that was taunting _my_ soul.

"How's your leg?" he asked.

"I'll live," I said. He held out his hand to help me up.

"How'd you get here?" he asked.

"I ran," I replied nonchalantly.

"How are you going to run, with that leg?" he asked.

"I'll manage," I said, grinning. "I've been through worse."

He smiled, and as I turned around he called out to me, "Will you be around?"

I just smiled. "I'm always around," I called out.

I ran on the road just outside the forest. I was on my way home, if you could call it home. I limped, and my leg was in pain, but I didn't really feel the pain. The thrill was too big, and the exuberance overrode the pain. I smiled, for once. I had no clue where the future was leading me, but I knew I had to go with it, and maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay for once….Because for a short part of the day, I could be Laura. Not Cindi Ann Miller or Hanna Tibet or any of the characters. With nature boy, I was at least free to be _me._

Not everything was perfect, but at least, in a bittersweet way, some things were working out.


	7. Part 1G

The next day I walked out the door, wearing the sheer, pasty nightgown. I let the sun bounce off my bare back, shimmering with a white light I had been waiting forever and ever for. It was only 4:30 a.m. in the morning. I stood watching the Sun rise. I watched the colors of exuberance: shades of pink, blue, purple, red, and orange swirled in an amazing display. It was artwork; the artwork of God. I down my driveway and smiled. I laid down on my grassy front yard, my front side facing the Sun. For once, everything felt glorious, in a beautiful, bittersweet way.

Today was a Saturday; later I could go to the forest and meet nature boy. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I was excited.

I had cleaned the wound on my leg with peroxide and put a bandage on it. That will settle it, eventually. The surface wounds, they will heal on their own. Get a cut, bleed, or even break a leg, and eventually nature will heal it for you. But the wounds of the heart and soul, for those we need other people to help us through. I'm not talking about "speaking to a counselor" or even letting a million people in on the deep dark secret you hide inside. All it really takes is one person, on friend, who you can really love and trust with all your heart.

It's cool to be a lone crusader, but every once in a while you have to flash a smile someone else's way. Who knows, they just might smile back.


	8. Part 2A

**(A/N: I know in the book Mullet Finger's real name is Napoleon, but I HATE that name, and I'm pretty sure the name came from the French emperor, so I will change it for this story to Alexander, based on Alexander the Great.)**

**The Closest Thing to Barefoot: part 2A**

I had gone to the woods and hung out with nature boy for weeks and weeks on end. We went boating, and ran around the beach, barefooted. We isolated ourselves from the rest of the world, but we had each other. We didn't know it, but we were falling in love. Sometimes, when I looked into his eyes, I couldn't look away. One time, we were running down the beach and I tripped on his keg and he fell on top of me. With any one else, I would have been embarrassed. But we both just brushed it off and giggled. We got up and kept running.

We didn't ask each other about our families, or our secrets, or our lies, because neither of us really wanted to talk about it, and we could sense it in each others' eyes. It was my time to escape the maze. Schoolwork was easy for me, but the actual social life was a dark maze and a fiasco just waiting to happen. It was all so imminent, but not when I was with nature boy. When we were together, everything was perfect.

One weekend, when we were sitting on the sandy beach watching the sun go down, I felt like telling him that I loved him. I could see it, in his eyes, that he felt the same way. It almost happened. The perfect moment almost happened. Little did I know that it was our last chance.

I sat in my room thinking about my life. I sat thinking about Mama, my life on the run, and mostly, about nature boy. Lately, he was consuming all of my thoughts. He told me he doesn't have a name, but I don't really believe him. He's out there for a reason, but he has to have a name. There has to be more to him that he's not telling me.

And I guess I would think that, because there was one thing that I haven't told him. There's one thing I had never realized, but today I found my mother's old journal. I guess I should have expected it. _Why_ was the government after us? Why?

What do you think I'm about to tell you?

That my mother was the one to kill my father?

Nope. No, no, and no, because the man who died when I was eight wasn't even my father. I had _thought _he was my father; he acted like it and I had thought I was "Daddy's little girl". But, it turns out, neither of them are my real parents. Laura is not my real name. Laura, the name they had called me when I was little, was not even my name. I looked at all the papers that were sloppily but surreptitiously stuffed into Mama's journal.

No. This wasn't happening.

I am _not _the girl my _real birth certificate_ says I am. No. No. I am NOT. I refuse to believe it, because I am completely, romantically in love with nature boy. But if I am the girl the birth certificate says I am…..

….yeah, he did tell me more about his "family". Not much, but some. He told me the name of the witch that gave birth to him. Lonna Bridger Leep. What a crazy, (+ rare) name…..

……and I'm really, really, really, _really_ hoping that the last name isn't as rare as it sounds……

…..I really, really, really, REALLY hope that there is more than one Lonna Leep….

….because this piece of paper that my fake (well, adoptive) mother hid from me……

….says my real name is……Xia Bridger Leep.

I asked Mamma about it, and she said, it was true, I was adopted. Okay, maybe that wasn't why she was running.

But something gurgled in my stomach, upsetting me. Because I didn't like the feeling this gave me. Because….this meant…..nature boy was my brother. There was a second birth certificate attached, telling me that his name was Alexander Bridger Leep. And no matter how many times I told myself that it was wrong to still be (romantically) in love with him, I couldn't help it. No matter how loud my conscience got, that little voice yelling at me to stop it because it is forbidden love and if we ever had children their genetics would be all screwy…..

I couldn't help it. I had already fallen in love with Alexander, and it was too late to fall out.

Maybe nature boy wasn't Alexander. Maybe there was more than one "Bridger Leep." I could hope, but I couldn't deny the facts. More likely than not, this was happening. I guess the only way to find out for sure would be to get him to tell me what his real name is.

But, I don't know. Maybe I can still be Laura. I've played so many characters, that it almost doesn't matter. I can be Laura Heansk (Heansk is Mamma's last name), not related to nature boy at all.

Because right now I know, this is the secret that no one has to know. Because Mamma doesn't know about nature boy, and nature boy doesn't know about Xia.

In the end, maybe I'll have to tell him. But for now, its my secret.


	9. Part 2B

I decided to go to the forest to see nature boy. After all, it couldn't hurt, right? No one had to know who he was. No one had to know who I was. And what was _really _that wrong with a sister being in love with her brother? And anyways, we _might _not even be related, so there. And it wasn't like we were going to….um, do….. "it". No way. I mean, real love isn't about that. It's based on things more pure….things closer to the heart.

I found nature boy in the abandoned boat, as usual. "Hey, nature boy," I said. By now, it was well-known to both of us that I would call him "nature boy" and he would call me "Laura", or his nickname for me, "Laurel Tree". A "laurel" is "plants…. any tree or shrub whose leaves, aroma, or berries are similar to those of the laurel, for example, the mountain laurel and cherry laurel" according to the dictionary. We had decided to have nature names because we loved nature. Or, well, it was a coincidence, because "Laura" wasn't really that far away from "Laurel". Anyways, I was glad.

"So the Laurel Tree was able to make it!" nature boy said, laughing.

"Don't I always?" I asked, pouting.

"Of course," nature boy said. His voice resonated in the thick air, with a sheer beauty ringing with it. Of course, he couldn't see it. He was pessimistic, and guarding, and even though he hid it very well, sometimes he hated himself. He couldn't see that he was perfect exactly the way he was. Of course, he pretended just that: that he wouldn't change for anything. If only he knew. Then he said, "Come 'on," and we linked hands and ran down to the beach. It was afternoon, so we had missed watching the sun rise. Oh well. "Do you want to go in the water?" nature boy asked.

"I'll get my clothes wet," I protested, but nature boy hit me on my butt jokingly. "Come 'on," he said. "Oh, alright!!!" I said, barely holding in restrained giggles. We ran into the woods together, smiling and laughing. "I love you, you know," nature boy said off-handedly, as though on the surface it didn't really matter, but deep down…it resonated far off with silver bells ringing and choruses screaming.

"I love you too," I said, and there wasn't even a nervous stumble in my voice like I had feared there would be. Would he hate me when he knew the truth? Because, technically, I was lying to him, because leaving information out is the same thing as lying. But maybe those papers were wrong…maybe they were forged….but Mamma said they were alright….

I mentally slapped myself, telling myself to stop being such a worry-wart and just go with the flow. I shouldn't be a party-pooper, when it is only _my_ party that I'm ruining.

I splashed some water on nature boy's face, and he splashed water on mine. We ducked the waves together, smiling and laughing and screaming. I realized that, right now, nature boy seemed happy. Because of me…because I came into his life….he was having fun, and he wasn't entirely alone. We were alone together. We had all the time in the world. I realized that I couldn't take this away from him, because it was all too good to be true. I loved him. I loved him like a sister would; I loved him like a friend would; I loved him like a girlfriend would….I loved him like anyone would: I loved him with all of my heart, and with every single part of my part. Not a single thing was missing.

We laughed and had fun and we didn't realize how late it was getting. It started to feel chilly out and we realized that the sun was going to go down soon. We weren't going to miss it! We could sit on the beach together, warming each other up with our arms, laughing and telling stories as we dry off, staring up as the beautiful sun faded to black. All of the glorious colors…I couldn't wait. We splashed around in the water for about another hour. "You ready to dry off?" I asked. "You betcha!" nature boy said. We smiled and screamed and ran off the beach and sat on the dusty sand. We were exhausted, but exhilarated, too. For now, everything was wonderful.

"Look," I said, pointing to the sky, towards the orange Sun. "The Sun is going down," I finished. Nature boy just smiled, and so did I. In the distance, I saw a couple of random fireworks going off. One of them was purple and bright green; the other was a spiral of pink, orange, red, yellow, and all of the colors of the marvelous Sun. We smiled together, because some things were just meant to be. I looked into nature boy's eyes and whispered, "I love you."

And sometimes nature itself is too imperfect to not be perfect. The imperfect sand, the ripped leaves, the sharp waves, the rough geodes and swan-like caves and plateau-ed cliffs? They were beautiful. Nature was beautiful.

We kissed, and it was almost as beautiful as nature could ever be. When we finished, nature boy whispered eerily, with an ethereal edge, "I love you, too, Laurel Tree."


	10. Part 2C

The next day I ran back down to the forest; it has been becoming my only escape to real life. When I'm with nature boy, I forget all of my problems and I just loose all of my inhibition-not in a dangerous way, but in an exfoliating way….I can feel my shell dissolving, leaving a raw and open core exposed to the world. But it doesn't matter, because the forest can be my masquerade. I smile as I run on the dusty, gravel path that leads to the forest. I am wearing my running outfit, as usual, and a pair of ugly black socks. I felt the wind beat against my alabaster hair. Images of my past kept trying to invade my mind but I kept pushing them away. I wasn't going to let my past haunt me when it shouldn't. It was behind me; it was my past. It shouldn't affect my love life…wait, did I just say that….now.

I crouched down and crawled into a small opening in the woods. It was a tight squeeze but I'm skinny. I like finding different pathways to the woods, because it awakens the creative spirit.

"Laurie? Is that you?" I hear Nature Boy's voice. His voice used to be a little bit sinister and dark….kind of murky and melancholy….at least on the inside. Most people probably couldn't detect it, because it had been cloaked with a witty, cocky, assertive tone. Sometimes I wondered if most people are like that, but none of us take the time to notice. But lately, there had been a hint of jubilance in his voice, constrained but almost trance-like. She felt it, too. Both of them had been transforming. Maybe it was the elegiac nature of new love sprouting. It wasn't just superficial giddiness; it was bright white darkness and sinister light, the different symbols of the world twisted into weird perceptions and warped perspectives. But not all deformity was bad; if looked at from afar, it was beautiful.

"Yeah, it's me," I said, smiling. "Who else spends their whole day in the forest?"

"Me," he said.

We laughed, and joined hands. They ran towards a flowing stream, the embodiment of all time. Nature Boy cupped his hands and tasted the clear, exuberant water. I winked at him, and did the same. We gazed into the depths of the dreamy, translucent water and watched the fish swim. Looking closely, I saw a green salamander creep out from under a sandy rock, peeking his black little eyes towards the world. I smiled. They lived in their own little universe; their own little realm, not constrained by thought or conformity. They were so peaceful and serene, just going about their daily life with no worries whatsoever.

I stood up. "What do you want to do today?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter," he said.

And he was right. It didn't matter what we did, as long as we were together.

We ran in the woods, racing each other, testing our strength and durability. Then we fell on the ground laughing and smiling. We were seriously growing inseparable. The same fear kept haunting me: what if he's my brother? Wouldn't this be wrong?

Even though, technically, we were just having fun together, running around in Mother Nature's habitat, I knew that it meant more. I could tell that he knew that it meant more, too. It was mutual love; it penetrated the flesh. It wasn't skin-deep; it felt like the fibers their souls were woven from were crafted specifically for each other. They matched, like an intricate web of crystals inhabiting their souls that were chemically drawn to each other. Not in that "we have chemistry" "romance" kind of way. It was more than that. You know that theory where they say that there is one "Mr. or Mrs. Right" where one person is created specifically to be with a specific other person, and other people might come close to fitting, but no where near like the one person who was right? And from that theory came the theory that there was love at first sight, that the first time you looked into each others' eyes, you knew you were meant to be together? Well, what if God somehow messed up in the process, and two people who were actually brother and sister were "made" for each other?

I'm confused, but I try to push it out of my mind so I can just enjoy the day. But Nature Boy could sense that I was upset about something.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

And he let it go, because we both have dark secrets from our pasts that we didn't really want to talk about right now. He understood. That was just one of the many things I loved about him.

We ran towards the beached and stepped our sandy toes (I took my ugly socks off) into the icy water. We smiled and splashed the water at each other.

"Race you," I said, and we swam towards the dock. Nature Boy got there first. This time. Then we went under waters and opened our eyes and watched all of the beautiful, fascinating creatures. I held his waist and resurfaced, staring into each others eyes. And I couldn't resist. I pulled into a kissed, and we kissed, for almost two minutes, and then we went back under water and watched the creatures, observing their natural, organic ways, so full and whole. And I knew one thing: they got it….what life was really supposed to be about, they got it.

And then I asked myself (silently, no one heard my soul sing out but me)….what was so wrong with falling in love with your brother? If the love is pure, and based on things beyond the material world, then what was so wrong about it? What made it so taboo and proscribed? All of a sudden it didn't make sense, at all. Nature doesn't conform, I realized. Nature's eyes create the concept of right and wrong, in it's own pure, natural way. And really, I decided, all human beings are brother and sister, because we are all the product of God and Mother Nature.

For now, that was good enough. I'd go back to it later, but for now….I was just going to enjoy nature with my only friend, my only sibling, my only lover.


End file.
